


FLEABAG

by bastardbones



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Bisexual Owada Mondo, Boys In Love, Bullying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Flashbacks, Gender Dysphoria, He/Him Pronouns for Fujisaki Chihiro, It Gets Worse, Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Minor Kuwata Leon/Maizono Sayaka, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Sexual Content, Trans Male Character, Trans Owada Mondo, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardbones/pseuds/bastardbones
Summary: “You like, totally murdered a guy for having a bigger schlong than you!"
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo, Kuwata Leon & Oowada Mondo, Oowada Mondo & Enoshima Junko, Owada Daiya & Owada Mondo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63





	FLEABAG

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like this, but I wrote it, so here it is. This is gross and kind of personal. I've been feeling disgusting, so this is the by-product. Putting that aside, I want to thank all readers that have peeked at my account. This will most likely be my last fic of 2020. I've written a lot this year and exclusively DR. I'm beginning to think I don't really belong in this fandom, though. I still have a lot of stories I wanna tell so I dunno. We'll see. 
> 
> This is somewhat inspired by Teakay's "Carnivorous" which I haven't quite read yet, but is the origins of the faked executions idea. At least to my knowledge? Just know that I'm not trying to claim any credit there. 
> 
> Additional warnings: Self harm (very brief), use of the d-slur, recreational drug use, and several mentions of urine.

He used to tuck a sock inside his underwear. He used to stand in front of a full view mirror and check his angles. The bulge was subtle, but it was something; it was passable. There was a soft pressure against his groin, there to correct his posture as he walked. That pressure felt amazing. It was silly—it was probably silly—that such a simple thing, a sock in his underwear, could elevate his goddamn experience as a human being. He had molded his body; he swallowed raw eggs before a work-out and and pumped, pumped, pumped until his biceps grew large. He became something. The shape of a man. He _passed_ and such a privilege it was, to do his hair—and god, even makeup. He ditched the sock and got a real packer. It looked realistic enough and when he wore it, the sensation was constant. There was more weight to his step and sometimes, he had to adjust when he sat down. Just a quick grab, the way guys do. The way _men_ do. 

Junko squishes it, as though she is squishing a baby’s cheek and gasps, “Omigod, it is so _small!”_

Ouch. That hurts his ego and it’s not even a part of him. Well, it is, but it isn’t. It’s a prosthetic, _flaccid_ penis, hence the size. A modest three inches. She is _aww_ -ing and _ooh_ -ing at it, poking with her acrylics. Funny, how she can wear false nails to accentuate her femininity, but he is mocked for accentuating his manhood. Whatever. He already has a dick, okay? A real one. Except, it doesn’t look the way most dicks do. It lacks some functionality, sure, and it _is_ small. Really small. Maybe that’s why this hurts. Not Junko, laughing at his fake dick, but Junko, laughing at the sparsity. 

Mondo thought Junko was cute (was, as in past-tense). Her skirt was short and her top was show-y, which clashed with her personality. She seemed shy. Reserved? She seemed like the kind of girl Mondo might have the guts to ask out. Instead, he watched hers spill onto the floor. She died so quietly. She was stunned by the pain and like everyone else, shocked by the suddenness. When she collapsed with a wet squelch, Mondo had to steel himself. The smell of iron sent him back to the roadside, where he had held his dying brother.

He would have held Daiya forever, if a dozen arms hadn’t pulled them apart. _“He’s gone, Mondo.”_ Everyone kept saying that, _“He’s gone.”_ There was someone putting him into a bag and Mondo was screaming, _begging_ for him back. Daiya, he wanted to see Daiya. His legs were torn to shit, his skin was shredded, so Mondo should have seen enough, but it was hardly enough. Somehow, despite the wreckage, Daiya looked peaceful. His face was as handsome as ever and Mondo kissed his forehead with trembling lips. Then a stranger zipped him up. Black hair, black eyes, black body bag.

When Junko died, because she _did_ die—everyone witnessed it. When Junko died, Mondo had crouched beside her. Her eyes were still open—WIDE—and Mondo just had to shake his head. She seemed nice. Once, in the cafeteria, he watched her open a pickle jar with a simple flick of the wrist. Then, the next day, it was an entire ordeal. She grimaced and grunted as she struggled to twist the cap. Mondo thought she was playing a joke, until she flashed him these pleading eyes. He opened it no problem, the same way she should have. Why hide her strength? Why accept the stereotypes of femininity, of the ditzy, pretty-faced fashion queen? It was puzzling and it interested him, but girls had always interested him. When she died, Mondo draped her in his jacket. Pulled it over her like a blanket and thought, _“Rest easy.”_

Junko Enoshima DIED. She was dead. Except, ha-ha-ha, Mondo Oowada DIED, too. Junko, the swiss cheese girl and Mondo, the butter boy. The both of them, slaughtered like cattle on a meat farm. Dead kids. Dead as shit and dead as hell. Trapped in that cage, he had spun so hard his stomach stopped dropping. Instead, it was in knots, tangled in his throat and he thought, if he screamed, his innards would fall out. He just let go after a while. His muscles sagged and his eyes rolled back and he realized, quite absently, that he had pissed himself. Whatever. He was dying, alright?

Except, ha-ha-HA. 

His wrists are bound to a chair. Not a comfortable one, either. The kind found in just about any classroom; the ass-busting kind. His jacket is gone and so are his pants. He is dressed only in a sweat-matted tank top and slow-drying packing briefs. What a nightmare. He could die of embarrassment, him tied to a chair and her poking his soft, squishy _dick_. 

“Hey, little fella!” There she is. Still at it. 

He remembers everything, now. His life before all this. He remembers Kuwata—no, _Leon_ —was his best goddamn friend. He remembers watching his execution and thinking, _damn, poor guy._ Now, it hits him like a slap to the face and he writhes and thinks, _fuck, not you, please, not you…_ He remembers Chihiro in class, with his bright, smiling face. Then Chihiro, with blood oozing down his cheek. He remembers Taka, rolling on top of him, lips on his mouth, hands on his—

“You like, totally murdered a guy for having a bigger schlong than you! That,” she clicks her tongue, “is HI-LAR." 

(Translation: Isn’t it hilarious that you, Mondo Oowada, murdered a crossdresser?)

There was so much blood. Head wounds bleed—like, _really bleed._ Mondo washed the red from his hands, dry in most places and flaking in others, like a layer of dead skin. Sort of itchy, too.

“Who was it that died in the gym?” Mondo demands, suddenly. He refuses to look at her, so instead, he speaks to the floor. “It wasn’t you.”

“Well, no duh!” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say my sister died in a horrible accident. It wasn’t _my_ fault!”

She is mocking him, obviously, but she is also admitting something. Junko Enoshima killed her sister, Mukuro Ikusaba. She admits it outright. Then, she suggests, with a puppy-dog pout, that her and Mondo have _sooo_ much in common. The two of them, tortured by the sudden death of a sibling. Deaths they both had a hand in, of course. Then, she sighs as she crawls into his lap—still damp, by the way—that she is feeling quite devious, tonight. That she had every intention of killing him, but decided to bend her own rules. Leon is dead, she assures him, just so there is no confusion. No trap door for Leon; he died on the spot. Wait, that isn’t fair. How is that fair? You can’t just make a game and keep changing the rules!

“Yes, I can,” Junko insists with a dangerous twitch of her mouth. Her valley-girl demeanor is gone for only a moment, and then she chirps, “Aw, chin up! You guys are doing so well! See?”

She motions to a wall of real-time footage. Mondo is too far away to decipher each one, but he can see pixels, representing each of his classmates. Currently, they appear to be gathered in the main hall, just outside the cafeteria. They did the same thing after Leon, an odd moment of silence before departing to their rooms. Not much movement is happening on-screen. Mondo squints. He just wants to know how Taka is holding up. Chances are, he isn’t. 

“He’s not your boyfriend anymore,” Junko decides with a girl-ish tilt of her head. She squeezes his chin and forces their eyes to meet. “He doesn’t remember.”

“Don’t—” Mondo swallows the rest. 

“I don’t have to do anything,” Junko beams. She reaches for something in the blue-hued darkness, then the wall flickers. Now, he sees Taka. A dozen or more of him, perfectly synchronized inside each little box. Taka, screaming on mute. Taka, clawing the floor and scratching angry, red lines up his wrist. Self assured, Junko says, “You did it for me.”

Then, she says, “One sec! I have surround sound.”

*** 

If there ever was an example of a man, a real man, then it was Daiya Oowada. Physically, he was everything a boy wanted to be. A mouth of straight, white teeth and head of gorgeous, thick hair. Broad shoulders, firm stomach, long legs. Over the years of biking and brawling, he had his fair share of scars. A cut over his eyebrow, where the hairs refused to grow back and a slight limp in his walk. He was joyriding once and took a nasty spill onto the street. His femur shattered into a million pieces and had to be replaced with a rod. During his hospital stay, the room was crowded with visitors, either guys from the gang or girls he was sweet with (and a cat fight may have ensued in the lobby). He graduated from bed to wheelchair and a few times he popped a wheelie before grinning widely at Mondo. He was always like that; high on life.

He could be serious, though. His voice was intimidating, graveled like boots on damp concrete. He only got serious for serious reasons. Breaking up a fight between members of the gang or shit, that one time Mondo almost got expelled. He cared. Everyone around him, he kept them in check and held them accountable. Daiya himself was of no exclusion. He had apologized to Mondo a handful of times. He was imperfect; he had the capability to fuck up and that was incredible. Mondo was helpless. He fucking adored him. 

He shook like a chihuahua, the night he came out to Daiya. He had rehearsed it nonstop, only to stutter his lines. Daiya had an unlit cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. Mondo was sort of waiting for it to fall out, but it never did. Mondo said what he needed to say and he said it with the best of his ability. His brother listened so intently, his eyes were soft and his posture relaxed. They were on the balcony just outside their apartment, and Daiya, he was leaning on the railing. Before responding, he patted away that cigarette. 

“C’mere, man,” he smiled, then pulled Mondo into a hug. 

He had a drawer of old clothes, stuff that didn't quite fit him anymore, but stuff he still liked, and gave them to Mondo. Shirts, with the faint scents of nicotine and hair gel. When Mondo wore them, he felt empowered. He almost felt as cool as Daiya, but that was something he could never be. His brother suggested they move, not a big jump, but someplace closer to Tokyo, so Mondo could transfer schools and get a new start. He reintroduced Mondo to the gang as his **brother** and of course, there were a few guys that scoffed. The same dudes that used to make eyes and whisper about how hot Daiya's 'lil sis was. Daiya booted them (good riddance). Anyone that had a problem with Mondo, had an even bigger problem with Daiya. It was always like that, but now it was _seriously_ like that. 

"We're brothers, man," Daiya would clap Mondo on the shoulder. "I gotchu." 

Daiya validated him. A _real man_ was backing him up and that meant more than anything. His words were like gold and his approval was priceless. Mondo was helpless. He was so, so helpless and as he watched Daiya comb back his hair or lace up his boots, Mondo thought, _"God, I want to be you. I want to be just like you."_

He loved Daiya and then some. They were bonded the way siblings were, but Mondo idolized him, too. Being the younger brother and all, idolization was impossible to escape. Daiya was like a role model and Daiya was like a father, except cooler and younger. Daiya was the best. He was better than Mondo; better at riding a motorcycle, better at charming a girl, better at life... If life was a game, then Daiya had made the leaderboards in terms of looks, talents and charisma. _Mondo loved Daiya._ Then Mondo started working out every morning. He packed and took hormones, then recovered from surgery.

Then, it became a competition.

Then, Mondo was So. Fucking. Jealous _._

***

Junko Enoshima is a monster in a miniskirt.

"You ever read Battle Royale? Yeah, me neither." She swats her enormous pigtail over her shoulder, then continues rummaging about the room. "I watched the movie, though. You ever see it? The one where all those poor kids hafta like, murder each other for survival? Do ya remember the part where that boy gets his throat blown open? _Oh-my-gawd!_ I was _rolling!_ Anyway," she snaps something around his neck. "I tots stole this idea."

It's a collar, cold and smooth like steel. It blinks intermittently, in a red glow that illuminates Junko as she inspects her handiwork. She taps the metal, then informs him it will blow up if he tampers with it. So much as an aggressive tug and **boom**. Game Over. There is a silver ring, dangling from the center and Mondo hears the click before he sees the chain. 

He is still sitting in his piss. The dick that's not really his dick is hanging out and the boyfriend who's not really his boyfriend is wailing for a dead man who's not really dead. 

Junko crinkles her nose, then tugs the leash. "Let's go, stinky!"

***

Mondo transferred. At a new high school, he could walk down the hall without a look of judgement or suspicion. The uniform wasn't too bad. A brown blazer and a matching pair of slacks—no skirt. He watches all the girls skitter around the classroom in their pleated skirts, laughing and swaying and adjusting their socks. A girl with long blue hair approaches his desk, hands folded behind her back. She welcomes him with a polite bow of her head. 

Sayaka wanted to be friends with everyone. She _was_ friends with everyone. Mondo could have dismissed her as a superficial, ladder climber, but she was far from it. He hadn't known popular girls could be nice girls. He thought common decency was something all those side-banged, lip-gloss wearing chicks abandoned. He still had a chip on his shoulder from middle school. There was a posse of bitches that used to antagonize him on the daily. They giggled and crumpled his math homework into a ball, before chucking it in his face. He would clench his fist and snarl, but he had already vowed to never hit a girl, even prissy ones like that. Until one of them snorted and called him a dyke… So yeah, Sayaka surprised him, but he still had some inhibitions. Girls were once so threatening. Now, not so much. Now, girls talked to him a lot less. That was just how it was, right? Girls hung around other girls, _bullied_ other girls, and rarely stepped away from their sex unless romance was involved. 

Sayaka introduces Mondo to Leon, her boyfriend:

"You're the new guy, right?" 

"Yeah."

He clicked with Leon. He was easy to talk to and honestly, he did most of the talking. He was always bitching about something, scoffing and flailing his arms. Mondo liked that about him, so he would just nod and laugh, then nod some more. Sometimes, they got high together after school and would lounge in bed for the longest time, until Leon shrugged on his backpack and said goodnight. Mondo was hesitant about sleepovers. The more they bonded, the more worried Mondo became. They had shared secrets, sure, but nothing too consequential. Leon had told Mondo the size of his penis and it always came back to that. Guys were obsessed with their dicks. Mondo would sweat through that conversation, he would sweat every time and try talking about his dick the way Leon had. Mondo was wearing a piece of silicone. He felt phony. 

He hated that. He had to be fake to be real and _he hated that._ When he looked around school, when he peered up from his textbook in the middle of class, he wondered if he was the only one. Living stealth was a double edged sword. No one could hurt him without knowing his secret, but then, no one could get intimate without knowing, either. He could have friends, he could have dozens, but how could he have a relationship? You know, the kind with kissing and touching? The kind he thinks about when he watches the girls sprint across the track field, boobs and butts jiggling. Yeah, girls make his stomach hurt, but he stares, anyway.

The boys are up next. Leon almost beats a school record and Mondo walks it, because he doesn't care, why should he? He's not an athlete and he's not going to college, anyway. He watches Kiyotaka clock in just behind Leon, nearly collapsing as he passes the finish line. He throws his head back for air, wheezing as he stumbles for his bag on the bleachers. He takes a few puffs from his inhaler and Mondo is too busy staring at his ass in those gym shorts to hear the disappointed grunt from their teacher... 54 seconds. 

He knows Kiyotaka is gay. Everyone knows it, but no one really talks about it. He doesn't have any friends and Mondo doesn't think that's the reason, but it certainly hasn’t helped his case. Frankly, Kiyotaka is annoying as hell. He's the kind of kid that reminds the teacher about last night's homework. He's the kind of kid that snitches when someone is cheating on a test. He is such a goody two shoes and Mondo thinks he should just shut his mouth, you know? He's so loud and for what? He sits alone during lunch, but Mondo decides to take a seat next to him. Not because Mondo thinks he's physically attractive or anything. Not because Mondo is searching for solidarity in this heteronormative high school. Mondo sits and Kiyotaka double takes.

Then he smiles.

"Hello!" 

He is the first boy to ever sleep over. 

He shows up five minutes early, hugging a folded blanket to his chest.

“I’ve only been to one other sleepover," Kiyotaka recalls. “They didn’t have extra blankets.”

Usually, Mondo would grab the rolling paper, but he doubts Kiyotaka would have any interest in that. Smoking, or even the mention of it, would probably make him uncomfortable. A movie seems like a safe bet. He seems squeamish at the suggestion of a horror film, then disinterested by most popular titles. Mondo decides to put on an animated movie. Within minutes, Kiyotaka is glued to the screen, watching each scene with the utmost intent. He is too absorbed to notice Mondo, stealing a glance every few minutes, examining his face in the dimly lit bedroom. He’s handsome. Mondo thought his ass was nice, but his face is a lot nicer. His side profile is gorgeous, his eyebrows are thick—his masculinity is present, but not overstated. The credits roll and Mondo feels cheated. He wasn’t done watching.

Kiyotaka sleeps over more after that. Almost every weekend, in fact. He always falls asleep before midnight and Mondo offers him the bed, but Kiyotaka refuses. One night, Mondo picks a movie at random, some foreign film with no-name actors, when he is absolutely sure Kiyotaka has conked out. The camera work is shoddy, but Mondo reads the subtitles and there is a sex scene, no more than ten minutes in. It’s basically a soft-core porn, more sex than plot, but Mondo gets sort of wrapped up in it. Even on mute, it seems too loud. Two college age boys fuck on a futon and Mondo has to turn it off after that. He gets too heated. Testosterone is a hell of a hormone and it has transformed him into this horrible horndog. He never used to be so obsessed with tits, but now he has to concrete extra hard whenever a girl speaks to him. Look at her eyes, not her boobs, _not her boobs._ Kiyotaka moans in his sleep and it zaps Mondo in the groin. 

He tries cooling down in the bathroom. He thinks about touching himself, rubs his crotch through his sweatpants, but decides not to go further. When he steps back into his room, he is shocked to see Kiyotaka curled up on the mattress. 

“Is this okay?” He is hardly conscious. How can Mondo say no?

The bed creaks as Mondo joins him. He expects they will sleep on opposite ends, you know, the way most friends would, but Kiyotaka scooches in. They share a blanket, the extra one that Kiyotaka always brings, and Mondo loves the smell of it. Kiyotaka, pressed against his back and Kiyotaka, engulfing him in warmth. In the morning (Mondo can’t remember falling asleep) he feels Kiyotaka, pressing against him differently. The pressure is unmistakable. A morning boner and Kiyotaka is still too passed out to notice or sputter an apology. The jealousy comes un-welcomed. Kiyotaka feels, well… he feels big. 

Mondo wants to grind on it. Arousal always wins in a battle of self-hatred. Mondo figures he can be horny now and then just hate himself later. That's a win-win, right? He shakes Kiyotaka awake and the boy stirs with a groan. 

“Oh.” All air. Kiyotaka rolls his hips in search of friction, before realizing what he's doing. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"No," Mondo exhales. "I like that. Can we do that?"

Kiyotaka, completely clothed, ruts into Mondo (his ass, specifically). Mondo rocks his hips back and forth, chest bubbling with excitement as Kiyotaka doubles his efforts. The bed creaks and they both bite their lips to stay quiet. Dry humping... Jeez. Yeah, Kiyotaka is humping him and it feels thrilling, despite knowing the activity won’t escalate. It can’t. Kiyotaka has his face hidden in the back of Mondo's neck and Mondo has his hand in Kiyotaka's hair. They could touch more, but they _can't._ When he leaves later in the morning, blanket tucked under his arm, Mondo wonders if he tricked him. If he betrayed him. If he _lied._

Kiyotaka likes boys. Except, when boys like boys, they tend to also like dick. 

Sometimes, Mondo wakes up and wonders where the fuck it went. His penis. Where the hell is his penis? Where is it? _Where is it?_ Where? 

***

He thinks about strangling her. She walks him through a door and he imagines bashing her head against it. Junko Enoshima is puny. The biggest part of her body is her goddamn tits. He hates himself for staring at her cleavage, but she's got on this harness and it exaggerates her juicy bits. Maybe he can objectify her to death.

She shoves him into the shower.

"Lemme see those titties, bitch!" Junko trills, slapping his pectorals and beating him to it. 

"You get off on this?" Mondo sneers, pulling his tank top over his head. It slides down the chain. There are two matching scars on either side of his chest; he was trying to hide those from Taka during their sauna competition. He realizes now how pointless that was; that Taka already knew, he just didn’t remember. 

"I've seen a lot of things on those cameras," Junko sighs, dreamingly. She pinches one of his nipples and Mondo has to resist smacking her senseless. "A _looot_ of things. Fukawa can't sleep without flicking the bean and Yamada has a mole on his ass. And you," she glances down. 

No use in delaying the inevitable. If she really is such a pervert, if she really has been drooling over those security cams, then she has seen most of him, anyway. He hooks his thumbs beneath the elastic of his briefs, then pulls (Junko squeals). He should feel violated, this is extremely violating, but what a relief to get those clothes off. Maybe now he can get clean. 

_“Wow,”_ she marvels at his nudity. “You really are dickless.”

Yeah, yeah. “Fuck you.”

Junko Enoshima is a mean girl on crack. A bully with fancy gadgets and a sadistic sense of humor. She does it all behind a screen, though. Like some loser that posts anonymous drivel online, bouncing between accounts, trolling as many people as possible. An instigator. A shit stirrer. Sure, she might be hot on the outside (stop looking at her boobs— _stop_ ), but she is hideous every place else. Her nails are fake, her lashes are fake, and her lips are probably filler, too. She puckers them and leans in, as though asking for a kiss.

“Fuck me? _Fuck me?_ ” She yanks his collar, forcing him closer. Close enough for her breath to ghost his lips. “Are you gonna _fuck me_ , Mondo? Are you gonna _fuck me_ like a porn star with your hard, throbbing cock?”

A bully. She's just a bully and this is her tactic. Jabbing her finger into the softest part of him, preying on his sensitivities. She keeps getting closer, mouth closing in on his, and he tries calling her bluff. 

"I don't think you could take it," he snarls against her lips. They're practically kissing, but without all the pressing, without all the heat or the spit. Heat, well, heat of a certain kind. Mondo is radiating with hatred. Junko Enoshima is a _cunt_ and he hates her. 

She laughs in his face, _in his mouth._ Her breath smells like bubblegum; the fruity fragrance seeps in his mouth and now he can taste her. She slaps his ass without warning. He flinches and swallows the sound that almost escaped him. He refuses to give her that satisfaction. 

"You're _funny_ ," she drawls, then spanks him a second time. She loosens her hold on the chain and Mondo quickly recedes. Just a short breather before she twists the shower handle and the water stabs him. “Bath time for puppy!”

His hair—already a tangled mess—deflates beneath the spray. A shiver runs up his spine; the water is freezing and Junko has no intentions of adjusting the temperature. She taps at an invisible watch on her wrist. No soap, no washcloth; he cleans himself with his fingers, scrubbing himself free of that layer of sweat. He rinses between his legs. Fuck her; she can watch. He wants her to.

***

“Do you know what that means?”

Mondo is asking that. It is a Friday evening, another sleepover where he shares the bed with Kiyotaka. The light is out, because Mondo thought it might be easier in the dark. They were making out and it was feeling good until it wasn’t. Until Mondo could feel Kiyotaka getting hard and Mondo was turned on, but not so obviously. There was a cute boy kissing him, but never touching without permission, never teasing or squeezing and _fuck_ —Kiyotaka is so respectful. If he was touchy, he may have guessed it by now, but no. Mondo had to just say it. Mondo had to pull their mouths apart and say _wait_ and say _sorry_ and say _uh…_ Well, Kiyotaka had his undivided attention. Now, he is looking at him, but he is not saying a word and Mondo thinks he may need to transfer schools, again.

“Yes,” Kiyotaka answers. Then he noses Mondo, searching for his lips in the dark. 

Just like that. So casual. 

Mondo flicks on the lamp by his bedside. “What?”

“I know what that means,” Kiyotaka clarifies. “Thank you for telling me.”

Mondo stares at him. Then, he sort of laughs. What the fuck? This was a big deal. He had been choking on this secret. Every time he thought about hacking it up, it only slid further down, clogging his throat. He thought about swallowing it, like a poorly chewed piece of food that scratches and scrapes. He thought about digesting and then never telling. Daiya could know, but anyone else knowing seemed catastrophic. Except, he had just shown Kiyotaka his guts and the boy hardly flinched. God, was Mondo really this dramatic? Had he spotted a monster under the bed, teeth and claws, only for a mouse to crawl out? Had he anticipated a greater response to validate an imaginary fear? Kiyotaka is not appalled and he is not disgusted and how does Mondo accept that? What was the point in hiding if his secret was never so awful to begin with? Why had he suffered? He is at the top of the rollercoaster and now nothing is happening. A ride with no drop. He pins Kiyotaka to the mattress. 

“Did you already know?” Mondo growls. Well, he tries. His anxiety comes out in anger, but not just the red-faced kind. He has the dirty scowl, narrow-eyed look, but his shoulders are shaking, too. 

Kiyotaka is startled, but for only a moment. His body relaxes despite the pressure above him and his pupils blow. He answers the question with a small shake of his head. Then, his face lifts slowly with a smile. 

“You’re so handsome."

Mondo thinks about all those grainy films he watched, where the one boy says something sweet and the other leans in for a kiss. He does exactly that. Kiyotaka inhales harshly, surprised by the intensity, then quickly eases into it. They are actually touching each other now. All those make out sessions and Kiyotaka more or less kept his hands in his pockets, but now he explores. Achingly slow. Mondo fast forwards, as he guides Kiyotaka to the place between his legs. The two of them groin in unison. 

Kiyotaka blows him. He holds what little length Mondo has between his thumb and forefinger and sucks. His head bobs ever so slightly, up and down with easy repetition. Sometimes, he pauses to pop off and give a few pumps, admiring the way Mondo twitches. Sometimes, he really digs his face in and swirls his tongue and Mondo shakes as if being electrocuted. He hums. Subtle vibrations. Mondo smacks a hand over his mouth, because he can't recall if his brother is home. Kiyotaka is making him melt, so his brain is kind of useless now. There is one hand on his naval, moving with the stutter of his stomach, and another, beginning to thread with his own. Kiyotaka changes his rhythm and Mondo groans in displeasure, before it starts feeling better. Somehow, better than before. Kiyotaka avoids fingering him, no poking or prodding. Mondo almost forgets that part of his body exists, until he is leaking so heavy and profuse. Kiyotaka laps up the wetness and Mondo shivers at the warmth of his tongue. He tells Mondo that he tastes good and damn, hearing Kiyotaka say something like that, something so dirty... It sounds nice coming from his mouth, though. It sounds like a real compliment. Kiyotaka is blowing him and Mondo just has to laugh, because he's _blowing_ him, right?

“Does it tickle?” Kiyotaka asks, sounding somewhat apologetic.

“You’re—” Mondo swallows the spit welling his mouth. “You’re sucking it like a dick.”

Whatever Mondo has, whatever the testosterone shots gave him, never felt like enough. An inch or maybe two? He never measured it, you know, the way guys do. He never really looks at himself from the waist down, either. His pubic hair is thick enough to hide most of what he might have. 

He feels like a dog. He feels like someone sedated him and chopped his balls off, then hand fed him treats during a post surgical stupor. Almost like missing something he never had to begin with. How does he mourn something he never lost? How does he feel entitled to something that was never given? 

Taka blinks. 

“This _is_ your dick.”

That's the sentence. There was a light, gathering dust for a lifetime, and Taka flipped it with a few simple words. Everything is different now. 

Mondo yanks Taka into a kiss. Their teeth clink and Mondo can taste himself. Then, in his fever, he pushes Taka back down. Mondo rocks his hips forward, holding Taka in place with a fist in his hair. He takes it so well, inhaling from his nose and groaning in tune with each thrust. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows upturning as he completely submits. Until he peeks an eye open, now glistened with tears.

"You okay?" Mondo slows to a stop.

"Mhm," Taka hums, before finding his voice. False alarm. "I like doing this for you."

He takes the opportunity to get Mondo between his fingers again, gently squeezing the perked piece of flesh. He pulls back that hooded bit as he pumps. Mondo feels hard. He feels hard and erect and for just a short while, his body lines up with his brain. Everything makes sense, like the way it was always supposed to. He feels whole. 

***

“These might fit ‘cha!”

Junko twirls a pair of underwear. A pair of _her_ underwear. 

Teeth chattering, Mondo says, “No.”

“Uh, I’m like, totally doing you a favor?” Junko scoffs. She tosses the panties and Mondo catches them, only because he doesn’t want to know what happens if he doesn’t. “Don’t pee in these, m’kay?” 

His dirty underwear is on the floor alongside his packer—his clothes are still filthy, of course. The fabric he has in his hands is deceptively soft and inviting. He would rather die than wear this. Does he have an alternative? Can’t he just be naked? Junko laughs as the distress manifests onto his face. 

“Be a good boy.” She pulls on his chain as a gentle reminder.


End file.
